Ties That Bind aj-2

by Phillip Margolin

  Travis caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. It startled him. Blood had turned some of his curly black chest hairs red, and there was spatter on his cheeks and forehead. What a mess.

  What to do? What to do? Take a shower, of course, but what about the body? He wasn't going to risk getting caught moving it, which meant that he'd have to have Pedro Aragon's man--Manuel--take care of it. Shower first or call Manuel first, that was the question. There was the sticky problem of getting blood all over the phone, so Travis compromised. He headed for the kitchen sink. It felt good to walk naked through the house. He was in his late forties, but his body was still firm, powerful. He liked feeling strong and sexually potent.

  Travis continued to consider his options as he washed his hands. Manuel had been very efficient that other time. Of course, he only had to take the girl to the hospital and threaten her a little, then pay her something extra. There hadn't been a body to dispose of, or a room to clean. And the downside of using one of Aragon's men was that Manuel would tell Pedro, and Pedro'd tell the others, but it couldn't be helped. He was certain that they would call him on the carpet, as they had before. He smiled as he remembered how they had berated him. He'd hung his head and acted contrite, but inside he'd been laughing. Let them save face, let them think that they were in charge. He was the United States senator. He was the one who would soon be the president of the United States.

  Chapter Four.

  Tim Kerrigan groped for his coffee mug without taking his eyes from his computer monitor. He took a sip and grimaced. The office coffee was vile to start with. Now it was cold. How long did it take for hot coffee to cool? The senior deputy district attorney looked at his watch and cursed. It was already seven-thirty, and his brief had to be in Judge Lerner's chambers by nine.

  Patrolman Myron Tebo, with all of six weeks on the job, had arrested Claude Digby while he was standing over the battered body of Ella Morris, an eighty-five-year-old widow. The teenage burglar had confessed to the murder but yesterday, moments before court adjourned, Digby's lawyer had cross-examined Tebo about the circumstances surrounding his client's statements. It was the rookie's first time on the stand and he'd fallen apart, forcing Kerrigan to spend the previous evening in the courthouse library researching the law of criminal confessions.

  Tim's wife, Cindy, had been upset when he told her he wouldn't be home for dinner. Megan, too: she was five years old and didn't understand why Daddy wanted to write a memo to a judge when he should be reading her another bedtime installment of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland . Tim had thought about trying to explain why his work was important, but he was too tired to make the effort. Cindy had barely spoken to him this morning when he crept out of bed at five-thirty to go downtown to finish the memo. Since six-fifteen, he had been hunting for the words that would convince a liberal judge that a flustered rookie cop's slightly altered version of the Miranda warnings should not invalidate a confession of murder.

  "You busy?"

  Kerrigan looked up and found Maria Lopez standing in the doorway. Crumbs from one of the doughnuts she was always munching clung to her lower lip. After a year of handling misdemeanors, the slightly overweight, bespectacled deputy DA had graduated recently to Unit D, which prosecuted sex crimes, assaults, and other felonies. Tim was the senior deputy in Unit D, which made him Maria's supervisor. The interruption annoyed Tim but he didn't let it show.

  "What's up?" he asked, taking a quick look at his watch.

  Maria slumped into a seat across from the senior deputy. Her suit was rumpled and her long black hair had partially slipped out of the barrette that pinned it in a bun at the back of her head. Maria's bloodshot eyes told Kerrigan that the deputy hadn't slept either.

  "I'm prosecuting a guy named Jon Dupre."

  "Pimping, right?"

  Lopez nodded. "Compelling and promoting. The guy runs an upscale escort service."

  "Drugs, too, no?"

  "Cocaine and ecstasy for college kids. My case is strictly the escort service, and it depends on the testimony of one of Dupre's women, who we rolled."

  Lopez shifted in her seat. She was definitely on edge.

  "And?" Kerrigan prodded.

  "Stan Gregaros can't find her."

  "Does Stan think she split?" Kerrigan asked, concerned. Dupre wasn't the biggest fish in corruption's pond, but he wasn't a minnow, either.

  "He's not sure. Lori's kid was staying with a neighbor . . . ."

  "Lori?"

  "Lori Andrews. She's the witness."

  "Go ahead," Kerrigan said, sneaking another look at his watch.

  "Andrews and the neighbor have an arrangement. The kid stays with her when Lori's working. The problem is, Lori never picked up Stacey."

  "Is Andrews the type to run and leave her kid?"

  Lopez shook her head. "The kid's the reason she agreed to testify. We had her on possession and sale, and she knew Children's Services would take her daughter away from her if she went to prison."

  "Do you think Dupre did something to her?"

  "I don't know. He could've. He's brutal if his girls get out of line."

  "What happens if Stan doesn't find her?"

  Lopez fidgeted and looked down. "When we indicted, we convinced Judge Robard to treat our witness as a confidential reliable informant so we wouldn't have to give Dupre her name."

  "Why didn't you just put her somewhere he couldn't find her?"

  Lopez reddened.

  Kerrigan sat up straight. "Tell me she's not still turning tricks."

  "The feds are involved. They wanted her inside to find out where Dupre kept his records."

  Kerrigan calmed himself. It wasn't Maria's fault. Federal agents could be intimidating, and she was new in felonies and would want to play ball. Kerrigan remembered how important he'd felt the first time one of his cases had been big enough to involve the FBI.

  "The trial starts this afternoon," Lopez continued uncomfortably. "I don't have a case without the CRI."

  "Ask for a setover."

  "We've asked for two already so the FBI could milk the witness. Dupre's attorney went ballistic the second time, and Judge Robard said there wouldn't be a third."

  "This woman is essential?" Kerrigan asked.

  Lopez nodded.

  "If you pick a jury and she doesn't show, will Dupre get a Judgment of Acquittal?"

  "Robard wouldn't have a choice."

  "Then you have to dismiss, because Double Jeopardy attaches as soon as the jury is sworn."

  "Dupre's lawyer will move for a dismissal with prejudice."

  Kerrigan thought for a moment. "Robard is a hard-ass," he said. "He won't grant one. And, even if he does, the odds are that it wouldn't stand up on appeal."

  Lopez balled her fists. "I really want this guy."

  "You'll get him, Maria. Guys like Dupre always trip over their egos. Trust me. It's just a matter of time."

  Heads turned when Tim Kerrigan pushed through the courtroom doors and took a seat on the backbench of Judge Ivan Robard's courtroom--fewer than would have turned when he first joined the office four years ago, but enough to still make him feel uncomfortable. The bailiff, the court guards, and the other regulars were used to seeing Kerrigan, but some of the casual spectators cast excited glances his way and whispered to each other.

  Tim saw his celebrity as a curse. It meant being constantly on display. He also thought of his looks as a curse. He was six two, tall enough to always be in plain sight, and he had wavy blond hair and green eyes that made him stand out in a crowd. More than once, he had daydreamed about walking into a courtroom unrecognized. He envied Maria Lopez. No one looked twice at her; strangers didn't stop her on the street or interrupt her meals to ask for autographs. Tim was certain that given the chance to be a celebrity, Maria would trade places with him eagerly. He would have swapped in an instant, without warning her to be careful about what she wished for.

  Kerrigan had just gotten settled when Jon Dupre strutted into the courtroom i
n a dark, tailor-made suit, basking in the same stares that Kerrigan dreaded. He was tall, tanned, handsome, and muscular, and he walked with an easy confidence that came from growing up wealthy and pampered. A gold earring in the shape of a cross dangled from an earlobe--just one of many pieces of flashy jewelry that the light danced off as he walked.

  Trailing behind Dupre was his lawyer, Oscar Baron, a short, nervous man who, rumor had it, took part of his attorney fee in the women and drugs that Dupre sold.

  Lopez looked up from her case file when Dupre entered the bar of the court. The defendant ignored the deputy DA and took his seat at the defense table, but Baron paused to speak to his opponent in low tones. When the bailiff rapped his gavel, there was a broad smile on Baron's face and a grim look of defeat on Maria's.

  Judge Robard entered the courtroom through a door behind the dais, and everyone stood. Most eyes turned toward the judge, but Kerrigan's stayed focused on Dupre who had been talking to a woman seated behind him in the spectators' section. Another spectator blocked Tim's view of the woman, but the man shifted slightly when he stood for the judge. Kerrigan's breath caught in his chest.

  Every once in a while a man will see a woman whose beauty short-circuits his senses. This woman's raw sensuality stunned Kerrigan. Lustrous, jet-black hair framed her heart-shaped face. She had olive skin, full lips, wide brown eyes, and high cheekbones. The bailiff rapped his gavel a second time, and Kerrigan lost sight of her again when everyone sat, but he could not tear his eyes away from the spot where she'd stood.

  "Nice ass, huh?" whispered Stanley Gregaros, a detective with vice who was working Dupre's case.

  Kerrigan felt heat spread across his cheeks. "Who is she?"

  "Ally Bennett," answered Gregaros as he slipped into the seat beside Kerrigan. "She's in Jon's stable. Calls herself Jasmine when she's working."

  "She doesn't look like your typical hooker."

  "None of Jon's girls do. They're all classy fillies. College kids, smart, sassy, corn-fed. Jon's clientele is rich and influential. A congressman or CEO isn't going to spend a grand or two on a crack whore."

  "Call the case," Judge Robard ordered. The bailiff rattled off the case name and number as Maria Lopez stood.

  "Are you ready to proceed, Miss Lopez?" the judge asked.

  "The state has a problem, Your Honor. I'm asking for a setover."

  "We object, Your Honor," Oscar Baron said, leaping to his feet. "This is the third time Miss Lopez has done this. The last time . . ."

  The judge cut him off with a wave of his hand. He did not look happy. "What's the basis for your motion, Miss Lopez?"

  "Our key witness has disappeared. We were in contact with her as late as two days ago. The witness was under subpoena and assured us that she would appear."

  "But she hasn't?"

  "No, Your Honor. I talked to my trial assistant before I came to court. We sent an investigator to pick her up, but she wasn't home."

  "The last time I granted your setover request I told you that I wouldn't grant another. Can you give me one good reason to change my mind?"

  Lopez cast a nervous glance at Jon Dupre, who looked bored to death.

  "Mr. Dupre has been out of custody since his bail hearing. He has a history of violence toward women . . ."

  "This is outrageous," Oscar Baron shouted. "Mr. Dupre has always claimed that he's innocent of these groundless charges. I'm not surprised the state's witness didn't show. She's probably worried about perjury. And to suggest that my client had anything to do with her disappearance . . ."

  "There's no need for speeches, Mr. Baron," Judge Robard said.

  He turned back to Lopez. "Does your case rest completely on the testimony of this missing witness?"

  "She's essential, Your Honor."

  "Then it looks like you're between a rock and a hard place. Mr. Dupre has a right to have his case tried. This is the time we've set for the trial. You're going to have to chose between proceeding or dismissing."

  Lopez moved for dismissal and Baron moved for a dismissal with prejudice. While they argued, Kerrigan turned to the detective.

  "What do you think happened, Stan?"

  He shook his head. "No idea. Andrews seemed standup. But Dupre can be a scary guy. Maybe she got cold feet."

  Kerrigan shifted his attention to the front of the courtroom when Judge Robard began to speak.

  "I've heard enough. The case will be dismissed on the motion of the district attorney. Bail will be exonerated."

  "Is that dismissal with prejudice, Your Honor?"

  "No it is not, Mr. Baron. Court is adjourned."

  Everyone in the courtroom stood when the judge rose, and Kerrigan moved his head slightly so he could see Ally Bennett again. She turned toward him for a moment, and his gut tightened. Bennett was dressed in a black tailored jacket over a cream-colored silk blouse. A string of pearls graced her slender neck. A short black skirt showed off lightly muscled and tanned legs.

  A dispirited Maria Lopez stuffed her paperwork in a file and marched, head down, up the aisle. Kerrigan and Gregaros fell in step beside her.

  "It's not your fault, Maria," Kerrigan assured his disconsolate deputy. "I've been through this. So have most of the DAs in the office."

  "We'll find Andrews," Gregaros assured her. "Then you'll put that arrogant prick away."

  As they passed through the courtroom doors, Kerrigan cast one more glance at Ally Bennett, who was having an animated conversation with Dupre. She looked upset. Then the door closed behind Kerrigan, and the couple was lost from view.

  That evening, Tim Kerrigan braved his wife's anger and daughter's disappointment and stayed late again, but he only pretended to work. There were cases to prepare and legal briefs to write, but he was too distracted to concentrate. By six, only a few stalwarts were still working. When all of the deputies and secretaries in the area had left, Kerrigan wandered over to Maria Lopez's desk. The cleaning people were starting to move through the office, but Kerrigan was not concerned about them, and he had a story prepared if another deputy spotted him.

  The loose-leaf binders containing the Dupre case were neatly stacked on one corner of Maria's desk. Kerrigan's hand trembled when he opened the top binder. It contained the police reports in the case. He leafed through them until he found what he wanted. Then he wrote Ally Bennett's address and phone number on a slip of paper and walked back to his office.

  His pulse was pounding when he closed his door. He sat down and stared at the white notepaper with his nervous scrawl. On his desk was a photograph of Cindy and Megan. Kerrigan squeezed his eyes shut. His blood roared in his ears.

  Kerrigan reached for his phone and dialed Ally's number. The receiver felt hot in his hand. The phone rang twice. Kerrigan's grip tightened. He started to hang up.

  "Hello?"

  It was a woman. Her voice was husky.

  "Hello?" she repeated.

  Kerrigan replaced the receiver on the cradle, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. What was he thinking? His heartbeat was rapid enough to alarm him, so he took long, deep breaths. After a moment, he picked up the phone and dialed again. Cindy answered.

  "Hi, hon," he said. "I caught a break. Tell Megan I'll be home soon."

  Chapter Five.

  "Can you take a look at something for me?" Frank Jaffe asked from the doorway of Amanda's office. Amanda's father, a solidly built man in his late fifties, had a ruddy complexion and gray-streaked, curly black hair. A nose broken in his youth made him look more like a stevedore than a lawyer.

  Amanda glanced at the clock. "I was wrapping up. I've got a date tonight."

  "This won't take long." Frank walked over to her desk and handed her a thick file. "It's that new case I picked up in Coos Bay, the murder. There was a search at Eldrige's summer cabin and I want your opinion. I dictated a memo on the points I'm interested in. I'd do it myself, but I'm off to Roseburg for a hearing."

  "Can't this wait until the morning?"

  "I have
to make some decisions in the case early tomorrow. Come on, help me here."

  Amanda sighed. "You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

  Frank grinned. "Love you, too. I have to be in court at nine in the morning, so call my motel room around seven. The number is clipped to the file."

  As soon as the door closed, Amanda opened the file. When she pulled out a stack of police reports, some crime-scene photographs fell onto her blotter. One showed a woman's body sprawled on a beach where the tide had left her. Close-ups of her bloated and ravaged face documented the destruction the sea and its creatures had wreaked on her humanity.